Tumbleweed
by Lakritzwolf
Summary: A collection of fics I wrote for the Fallout Kink meme that are either too short, too meaningless or just plain too silly to post them on their own. Various characters and settings. Now rated M because some of these contain smut.
1. Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui

**Vulpes/Arcade: Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui  
**

Arcade and Vulpes talking Latin. (or my attempt at it)

* * *

"Oh well, I knew I would die someday, I'd rather hoped it would be later than sooner"  
"Will you stop whining?"  
Arcade rolled his eyes. "We're going unarmed and... peacefully... into the Legion Fort to talk with the most brutal and bloodthirsty war leader the post apocalyptic Wasteland has ever heard of and I'm not even allowed to mourn my all-too early demise?"  
The courier elbowed him in the ribs. "Oh come on, you pessimist. All I wanna do is give him a chance to retreat before... you know."  
"Yeah, I know." They had had this discussion before, and Arcade knew it to be a waste of breath to start it all over again. Saying that Caesar might accept the courier's terms and retreat was a bit like saying that radiation might not be harmful. Telling the courier to give up and not try and find a peaceful solution was like telling water to try and flow uphill. So Arcade had made some sort of peace with his life instead of refusing to come along (well, he had tried but he had yet to see someone win an argument against the courier, so he could be forgiven) was now following him through the Fort, heading for Caesar's tent.

He stood a little off to one side and mustered the two people now engaging in a heated discussion and the one man standing somewhat beside the throne who seemed to be some sort of advisor. That man – the courier had introduced him as Vulpes Inculta as they had entered the tent – occasionally twitched a muscle in his face as if he, too, suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at some of the things his superior said.

Arcade sidled a little closer and he and the advisor exchanged a glance form the corners of their eyes.  
"I told him it was a stupid idea to try", Arcade muttered under his breath.  
The Legionary beside him slowly crossed his arms but didn't look at Arcade. "Diligentia maximum etiam mediocris ingeni subsidium."  
"Possunt quia posse videntur."  
At that, Vulpes did turn his head and looked at Arcade with one raised eyebrow. "Sed vir sapit qui pauca loquitur."  
"He never does", Arcade chuckled and crossed his arms. The other two verbal combatants were, as of yet, oblivious of their low conversation. "Not even when he knows beyond doubt that it won't be of use." Then he shrugged and added: "Audaces fortuna iuvat."  
"Maybe that is so", Vulpes gave back, a faint smile on his lips. "But still... exitus acta probat."  
"The result of this is that we'll die", Arcade muttered under his breath. "And all because of following this... starry-eyed kid."  
"Maybe you will be allowed to live", Vulpes replied mildly. "And only be enslaved."  
Arcade shot him a sour look. "Non est vivere sed valere vita est."

Vulpes sounded outright amused. "Ad praesens ova cras pullis sunt meliora ad quem ad quod."  
"I'd rather have the chickens, thank you. Why don't I just get the hell out of here?"  
"There is no fame or glory in running."  
"Fame?" Arcade snorted softly. "Glory? Your way of thinking, maybe, for me, si post fata venit gloria non proper."  
"The profligate's way of thinking. The way of the weak", Vulpes sneered. "Damnant quodnon intelligent."  
"What is there to understand? To us, you're murderers and slavers." Arcade could already feel the ropes biting into his wrists, but couldn't make himself stop. In a way, he was as bad as the courier once he was engaged in a discussion.

"Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui", Vulpes replied slowly. "He will not be amused if he becomes aware of what you are saying." He made a small, significant pause. "De fumo in flammam."  
Arcade stared straight ahead and realised the discussion between the courier and Caesar had come to an abrupt end. He waited for a few moments, but no one ordered to have them arrested or killed, and the courier finally straightened up again and nodded at Arcade.

"We have five minutes to get out of here", he said.  
"Tempus fugit", Arcade replied with a nervous grin and turned to Vulpes again. "I'd bit you vale, but I'd rather we not meet again."  
Vulpes crossed his arms, a tiny smile on his lips. "Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim."  
"Favete linguis."  
At that, Vulpes actually laughed and escorted them out of the tent himself. "It is refreshing to meet a man with and intelligence among the profligates", he said after reaching the tent flap. "You should have a place here, among the Legion's finest. You would certainly deserve it."  
"I'd rather not be a slaver and murderer myself", Arcade replied slowly. "I'm a doctor, not a fighter and I'll never be anything else. Nosce te ipsum."  
"Bonitas non est pessimis esse meliorem."  
"As I said, I'd rather be alive than glorified."  
"You shall have no glory at all. There is no way you can win this fight."  
"No?" Arcade shrugged. "Maybe. Sed fallaces sunt rerum species, et minuma maxima sunt." With these words he cast a significant look at the couriers neck where the platinum chip hung in a small leather pouch. Vulpes narrowed his eyes, looked back and forth between the courier and Arcade and shrugged.  
"Memento mori."

Before he could vanish through the tent flap Arcade said softly: "Cineri gloria sera est."

If Vulpes had heard it, he gave no sign.

* * *

Diligentia maximum etiam mediocris ingeni subsidium: Diligence is a very great help even to a mediocre intelligence.  
Possunt quia posse videntur: They can because they seem to be able to (they can do it because they think they can do it - the power of positive thinking)  
Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur: That man is wise who talks little (know when to hold your tongue)  
Audaces fortuna iuvat or fortes fortuna iuvat: Fortune favours the brave  
Exitus acta probat: The result validates the deeds.  
Non est vivere sed valere vita est: Life is not being alive but being well (life is more than just being alive)  
Ad praesens ova cras pullis sunt meliora ad quem ad quod: Eggs today are better than chickens tomorrow  
Si post fata venit gloria non proper: If glory comes after death, I'm not in a hurry  
Damnant quodnon intelligent: They condemn what they do not understand  
Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui: Beware of what you say, when, and to whom  
De fumo in flammam: Out of the smoke into the flame  
Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim: Be patient and tough; some day this pain will be useful to you.  
Favete linguis: Hold your tongue  
Nosce te ipsum: Know thyself  
Bonitas non est pessimis esse meliorem: It is not goodness to be better than the worst.  
Fallaces sunt rerum species et minima maxima sunt: The appearances of things are deceptive and the smallest things are most important.  
Memento mori: Remember that you will die  
Cineri gloria sera est: Glory paid to ashes comes too late

Written with the help of: latin-phrases. co. uk  
I could never pretend to have composed that on my own.


	2. Ceramic Cadences

**Dukov/Intact Garden Gnome: Ceramic Cadences** (Hey, I didn't make this prompt up, I just filled it)

_His girls having run away, Dukov is lonely and takes comfort (or tries to, at least) in the only company he has left._

* * *

He cast aside the empty bottle in frustration. This was the worst part. No one to order to bring him a new bottle. He sat up with a drowsy shake of his swimming head. Damn the girls. Damn it all.  
The fridge was empty. The other fridge was empty, too. The cupboards were empty. His foul mood draping over him like a cloak Dukov fell down onto the bed again. "говно."

His eyes wandered aimlessly across the room, and fell onto the garden gnome sitting innocently on the dresser. "What are you looking at, you pathetic little creature?"  
The gnome smiled happily back at him. It was infuriating.  
"Are you making fun of me, you little засранец?" He left the bed, walked over to the dresser and picked up the gnome. "Enjoying yourself?" He belched softly. The gnome smiled politely as if to say it didn't mind.  
"Think you can make fun of me, do you?" He shook the gnome and snorted heavily through his nose. "Making fun of me, yes? Huh? Never make fun of a man suffering from sexual frustration!"

Without really knowing what he was doing Dukov undid his fly and with heavy, huffing breaths, brought out his dick and held it under the garden gnome's nose. The gnome seemed unimpressed. "Aha! And whose fault do you think this is, you блядь?" He began to rub himself and held the gnome close to his crotch to enable the sick little fucker to see. "I'll show you who is boss", he muttered. The gnome stared at Dukov's penis with an indifferent smile.  
His dick now hard, Dukov pumped himself while holding the garden gnome with the other hand over his crotch. "See that? All the girls in the world would fall on their knees for a glance at him! And you? You just smile!" Then he narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you smile because you like it?" He held the gnome up to look into his painted face. "Ah. You like it. Of course you do. Everyone likes him. Want to give him a kiss?"  
The gnome smiled eagerly, or so it seemed. Dukov pressed the little ceramic face into his crotch, against the shaft of his dick, and sighed. "Oh yes, you little beast. Wish you had a tongue."

Maybe the gnome wished for that, too. Still smiling, he rubbed his little stubby nose against Dukov's dick.

Dukov in turn clutched the gnome in both hands and rubbed him up and down his dick, pumping harder and faster. "Kiss him again. Come one, kiss him again. слушаю! слушаю!" The gnome pressed his face against Dukov's dick, but at that moment, the disaster happened. Clutched in a grip too hard for him to stand, the gnome shattered into shards. Unfortunately, Dukov realised this a second too late. Ceramic shards sliced into the palm of his hand, and before he had time to stop, one of them had scraped a dark red line down his cock from root to tip.

With a scream he jumped up, stared down at his bleeding dick, then at his bleeding hand, and at the shards of ceramic that had been his only companion until seconds ago. Fury mingled with frustration, and Dukov took a step forward to grind what remained of the gnome's face to dust under the heel of his foot before falling back onto the bed again, contemplating is flaccid, abused and bleeding dick.

"проклятие."


	3. Deck the halls with piles of bodies

**F!Courier/Lots of other characters: Deck the halls with piles of bodies**

_The Courier throws a Christmas Party in the Lucky38, with Christmas cracker jokes, punch, and spin-the-bottle. (with a hint of F!Courier/Vulpes)_

* * *

It was a bit awkward at first. The NCR people were standing in one corner – metaphorically speaking, of course, as the Cocktail Lounge of the Lucky 38 was round and thus, had no corners – the Legion guys in the other, both parties eyeing each other distrustfully over their drinks. A few Brotherhood paladins had obviously surrendered to the slightly bizarre circumstances and had settled down around a table where they made short work of the cheese crackers.

Drinks were abundant, however, and shortly after Boone and Raul had hauled the large bowl with the punch in, the atmosphere began to loosen a bit. Maybe there was a touch too much vodka in the punch, although Veronica had insisted she knew exactly how to make a perfect punch. It hadn't been that funny at that time. It certainly was now, two hours into the punch bowl.

Christmas crackers popped and crackled everywhere while the courier ran around, making sure everyone had enough to drink and keeping everyone from each other's throat. She passed a group of NCR soldiers, namely Moore, Hsu and Boyd, sitting in a circle on the ground with a few Brotherhood members, all of them wearing little paper hats, while a Brotherhood scribe popped a Christmas cracker.  
He stared at the little piece of paper and squinted. Moore took a sip of her punch.

"What do you call a mad golfer?"  
The NCR people exchanged a few looks and shrugs.  
"A crazy put!"  
Moore spat a bit of punch into his face and broke out into a drunken laugh while Hsu and Boyd rolled their eyes and groaned, not having had enough punch yet.

The courier found Vulpes standing with his back to a wall, arms crossed and the bright yellow paper crown on his head looking slightly out of place, what with him still wearing his crimson legion attire.  
"Isn't it lovely that at least during Christmas time we can all forget our differences and be glad?"  
Vulpes lifted his eyebrows. "Forget is maybe saying a bit too much. Ignore, maybe, and only at the orders of Caesar himself."  
"Oh come on, don't be a party pooper, V!" The courier hooked her arm through his and he let himself be dragged along with a resigned sigh towards the punch bowl where Caesar and Cassidy were presently were busily sampling its contents.

"You know", Cass slurred, draping an arm around Caesar's shoulders. "You aint' half bad a guy when you ain't trying to crucify someone."  
Caesar emitted a hearty, if a little high pitched chuckle and tried to tickle Cassidy under her chin. She broke out into a screeching cackle and half-heartedly slapped his hands away. "I ain't that kind of girl, mister."  
Casear leaned over and whispered something into her ear, causing Cassidy to giggle in a frequency that would have made a dog whine. It made both Vulpes and the Courier wince.

"The punch is maybe getting a bit out of hand", the courier muttered and turned around when someone tapped her shoulder to be hit in the face by the tip of a hooting party blowout. She took a small step back and let the two legionaries pass by, hooting and laughing as they stumbled past.  
"A bit?", Vulpes asked, but before the Courier could reply, Veronica appeared and clamped her vice of a grip around both Vulpes' and her arm.

"Come on!", she piped. "We're playing spin-the-bottle!"  
"I don't..."  
"Come on!"

Vulpes and the courier exchanged a glance behind Veronica's back, but there was no escaping that grip.

She dragged them towards a cleared space where several people were sitting in a circle, namely Cass, Caesar (sitting side by side), Colonel Moore, Scribe Ibsen, Benny (batting his eyelashes at Moore who remained completely oblivious) and now Veronica, Vulpes and the Courier.

"Vulpes!" Caesar hollered. "Great sport of you to join us!"  
"Of course", Vulpes replied smoothly as he knelt down, as sitting cross-legged like the others was out of question with his kilt.

"How does this game work?" Caesar looked at the empty beer bottle standing in the middle of the circle.  
"Easy", Veronica said. "We spin the bottle, and whomever it points at has to... are we playing truth or dare?"  
"Yes!" Moore clapped her hands." Truth or dare!"  
"Fine. So whomever the bottle points at has to choose truth or dare. Either answer a question truthfully or do a deed."  
"Caesar took a sip of his punch. "Who asks the question?"  
"We start with... uhm..."

Cass leaned forward and spun the bottle. It came to rest on Scribe Ibsen. "He starts."'  
"Good." Veronica flashed Ibsen a sweet smile and gestured at him to go ahead. "Spin the bottle."

Ibsen did as he was told and the bottle came to point at Cass.

"Then you have to ask truth or dare", Veronica said helpfully.  
"Right." Ibsen cleared his throat. "Truth or dare?"  
"Dare!" Cass giggled and knocked back her punch. "I ain't no sissy!"  
"Then you have to make something up Cass will have to do."  
"Uhm." Ibsen scratched his head. "Ah..."  
"Something silly", Veronica fell in. "Something really embarrassing."  
"Uh... then... ah... I'm afraid I'm not good at this."  
"Bullshit!" Cass produced a noisemaker and hooted. "Your time's up!"  
"No it isn't!"  
"Yes it is!"  
"No, there's no time limit!" Veronica looked at the courier for support. "Is there?"  
"Ah... not that I know of", the Courier replied a little hesitatingly.  
"See."  
Cass pouted.  
"Okay. Then you... ah... wave your arms and cluck like a chicken."  
"What?"  
"You heard him, Cass!"

Cass stood up and waved her arms, looking completely bedevilled. She waved her arms around and then scratched her head. "What the fuck is a chicken?"  
Everyone groaned.

"Next!" Caesar waved his hands. "This is bullshit. Who's next?"  
"Cass", Veronica said. "Come on."

Cass spun the bottle and it came to halt pointing at Vulpes.  
Caesar and Cass both simultaneously broke out into a laugh. "Truth or dare?", Cass snorted after catching back her breath.

"Truth."  
"Slowpoke." That was Benny.  
Vulpes crossed his arms.  
"Right." Cass looked into her empty cup, shrugged and looked at Vulpes again. "Whatcha wearing under that kilt of yours?"  
Vulpes rolled his eyes. "Nothing."

Every female in the circle, even Veronica, howled or emitted wolf-whistles at that.

"You can only choose truth once, then you have to do a dare", Veronica threw in helpfully, a slightly evil grin on her face.  
"Isn't it three times?" Cass scratched her chin.  
"No, that'd be too boooring."  
"M'kay."

Vulpes' face betrayed nothing.

"Your turn to spin!" Cass stood up and took both her and Caesar's cup to the punch bowl for a refill while Vulpes shook his head and leaned forward to spin the bottle. It came to rest on Caesar himself.  
Vulpes looked as if sheer force of will kept him from blushing. "Ah... truth or dare?"  
"Dare!"  
Cass came back, chuckling and almost spilling the punch as she sat down. Caesar took his cup from her, winked and fortified himself with a sip. Everyone stared expectantly at Vulpes who looked as if he was about to bolt.  
"Well?" His lord and master crossed his arms.

Somewhere in the lounge a noise maker hooted amidst the giggling of party guests who had underestimated Veronica's punch. The people in the circle were slowly becoming restless.

"Oh come on, Vulpes, I won't bite your head off!"  
Vulpes took a deep breath. "Then you shall recite a poem. In Latin."  
Caesar blinked a few times, took a deep breath, and swore under his breath. Everyone laughed.  
"Oh well, oh well." The Leader of the Legion stood up and spread his arms, imitating the pose of an opera singer. He cleared his throat and directed his speech at Cassidy who blushed despite not understanding a single word.

"Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,  
rumoresque senum severiorum  
omnes unius aestimemus assis!  
soles occidere et redire possunt:  
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,  
nox est perpetua una dormienda.  
da mi basia mille, deinde centum,  
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,  
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.  
dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,  
conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,  
aut ne quis malus invidere possit,  
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum."

"Aaww..." Veronica clapped her hands and everyone fell in. "How... sweet, I hope."  
Caesar bowed and sat down again to reach for the bottle that came to rest pointing at the courier.

"Hah! Truth or dare?"  
"Truth!" The courier nervously threaded her fingers.  
"Very well. Which of the men here present would you kiss if you had to choose?"  
Veronica shrieked in joy. "That's the spirit!"  
The courier face-palmed and shook her head. "None."  
"No, that doesn't count!", Cass yelled. "You gotta chose one!"  
"Here in this circle?"  
"Yes."

The courier looked around. The alternatives were a jagged Benny, a sauced Scribe Ibsen, a shit-faced Caesar... and Vulpes. She wordlessly jerked her thumbs at the only sober man in the circle in hopes he would understand and endured another round of howls and wolf-whistles.

The courier then spun the bottle and it was Benny's turn who chose a dare and was condemned to walk through the whole lounge and give every man a kiss on the hand. The courier had a score to settle, after all. When Benny spun the bottle, it pointed at the courier again.  
Everyone but the courier and Vulpes laughed.

"Haha! Baby doll, this is the moment I've been waiting for!"

The courier looked panicked.  
"You gonna go to the punch bowl and drink three cups of the stuff! Chug-a-lug, baby!"  
"Oh no..."  
"Oh yes!"  
Everyone laughed again.

After the deed was done, the courier sat down, her head beginning to spin ever so slightly. There was definitely too much vodka in the punch. She spun the bottle and it came to rest on Vulpes.

"There's other people who want to play along, too!", Cass muttered.  
"It's not my fucking fault!", the courier snapped.  
Vulpes emitted a little, fatalistic sigh after exchanging a look with his lord and receiving an amused, but stern glare. "I guess it will be dare this time."  
"Damn right it will", Cass cackled and Caesar chuckled while the two toasted each other.  
The punch having now reached her brain, the courier shrugged and smiled. "Why should you be any better off than me? Three cups, chug-a-lug."  
Vulpes smoothly got onto his feet and followed his orders. Coming back he sat down again with a face that made it clear he wasn't very fond of punch.

The game continued with Ibsen having to carry Veronica piggy-backed, Veronica having to kiss Benny, Moore putting a sock on her head, the courier admitting that the worst blow to her vanity had been discovering her hair had been shorn off after waking up in Doc Mitchell's clinic and Cass revealing that she had lost her virginity standing up with her back against a dumpster in a back alley of Reno.

Cass spun the bottle.

It pointed at the courier. Again.

"I hate this game." She also hated punch, the stuff had lodged itself into her brain and made her feel fuzzy. "I know what's going to happen now." She looked at Vulpes who had the faintest flush on his cheeks and a very slight, punch-induced smile that he was trying to suppress.  
"Hahaa!" Cass giggled, pointing at Vulpes. "Kiss him!"  
The courier and Vulpes exchanged a look and simultaneously shrugged. With a sigh, the courier leaned over and pecked a hasty kiss on his cheek.  
"Oh no. Nonononono. That doesn't count!" Cass waved her arms.  
"But I..."  
The whole merry circle erupted in a storm of protest.  
"No way!"  
"Oh come on, baby doll, you can do better than that!"  
"It's a disgrace, is what it is!"  
"Chicken!"  
"Come on, sweetheart, you know that doesn't count!"

The courier looked at Vulpes again. Vulpes smirked and shrugged again. Resigning into her fate the courier shrugged and leaned forward to touch his lips with hers. To her surprise they were warm and soft. They also tasted faintly of punch, as did his tongue. A cacophony of cat-calls, jeers and whistles tore her back into reality and she jerked back with a fierce blush on her face. Vulpes cocked one eyebrow but said nothing.

After rallying herself the courier took the bottle and the game resumed with Ibsen having to make publicly known that he preferred boxer shorts over briefs, Moore admitting she had sexual fantasies of men in power armour, Benny announcing that if he really would have to fuck the Courier now he'd use doggy style (which earned him a few howls and cat-calls too), the Courier revealing after being asked whom she had given a blowjob that she had in fact never given anyone a blowjob yet. After that, Caesar had to perform a belly-dance. When he spun the bottle, it pointed at Vulpes.

"Truth."  
"You're a drag, you know that, Vulpes?" Caesar grinned. "When was the last time you jerked yourself off?"  
This time, he did blush.  
Cass snorted. Veronica tried to stuff a giggle back in with pressing her hands to her mouth, remaining unsuccessful. Benny grinned shamelessly, Ibsen choked on his drink and the courier blushed almost as hard as Vulpes did.  
"Come on now." Caesar flicked a hand. "We ain't got all night."  
"I can't remember."  
"Liar, liar, pants on fire!",Cass and Veronica yelled at him practically simultaneously before breaking out into a giggle.  
"Roughly three weeks ago", Vulpes said then.  
"And who've you been thinking of?"  
"You shall have to wait until the next opportunity arises."  
"Hmpf." Caesar emptied his cup but rules were rules.

The Courier noticed the noise on the other side of the lounge increase and saw, after craning her neck, that a few Legionaries, NCR soldiers and Brotherhood paladins had taken some of their respective comrades onto their shoulders and now they played a – as of yet – peaceful game of pushing your adversaries off their respective mounts' shoulders. Watching them, the courier could only hope things remained peaceful.

After that, Cassidy had to fetch drinks for everyone in the circle by carrying the cups on her head, one after another. It took quite a while, and even if that meant Vulpes had to drink another cup of the dreadful punch, the expression on Cassidy's face as she tried to balance cup after cup on her head was well worth it.

Cass spun the bottle, and it pointed at the courier. "Dare!" She chuckled in glee. "Daahaare!"  
The Courier rolled her eyes.  
"Okay. Okay. This is perfect." Cass took a hasty sip of her drink. "You gotta check if Vulpes has been telling the truth about what's under his kilt!"  
"No", both the courier and Vulpes said simultaneously.  
The circle around them erupted into dirty laughter.  
"That's going too far", the courier said.

Vulpes meant to say something too but was stopped when his lord gave him a long, glowing stare. To get it over with, he took the courier's hand and unceremoniously shoved it under his kilt, on the side of the thigh, the least compromising spot. Everyone howled and whistled as the courier blushed a dark crimson. Vulpes himself didn't look much better.

"That does it", the courier said and got up, swaying a little after the fourth cup of punch. "I'm out of here."  
"HEY!" Cass threw her hat down beside her. "You gotta at least tell if he said the truth!"  
"He did!" the courier yelled back and stomped off, ignoring the howls and jeers.

After skirting around a group of arm-wrestling NRC soldiers and Legionaries, the courier found Boone and Raul in a corner, sitting side by side on a sofa, their feet on a table, sharing a bowl of potato crisps while making peaceful love to a few bottles of beer.

Behind her, the door of the elevator opened with a ding and a deep, dark voice from the seventh level of hell, by the sound of it, roared loud enough to make the window panes vibrate: "THERE'S COOOOKIIIIEESS EVERYONE! COME AND GEEET THEEEEEEEM!"

The lounge erupted into a stampede and Lily had a hard time keeping all those youngsters in check, whacking fingers and telling everyone if they didn't behave there would be no more cookies. A legionary and a paladin ended up at each other's throat about the last chocolate chip cookie and Lily pulled them apart by their scruffs, told them to share and be friends again and since no one in his right mind who is faced by a seven feet apparition from hell with a known mental instability put up resistance they agreed, shook hands and broke the cookie in half.

The courier dropped onto the couch beside Raul and shook her head with a groan. "Worst idea ever had", she muttered.

"What?" Raul offered her the bowl and she grabbed a large handful of crisps that she shoved into her mouth. "The Party?"  
"No", the courier mumbled around a mouthful of potato crisps while her blush slowly faded. "Letting Veronica make the punch."


	4. Have one for me

**Cass/Boone: Have one for me  
**

_The Courier and Cass find a letter on Boone, like the one he carried that was adressed to Carla. Only this is adressed to someone else..._

* * *

It wasn't fair.

Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

Just when he had come to grips with his past, when he had hesitatingly put all that behind him and dared to step into life again it had been taken off him. Was about to be taken, as it was slipping through the courier's fingers. Boone, hit almost directly by a missile, was bleeding to death under his hands. One of his legs had been almost torn off; it was a miracle he was still breathing at all. But by the way the blood pumped out of the hideous wound and soaked the ground beneath him it was a matter of minutes, at the utmost. Gritting his teeth the courier did the only thing he could: inject a dose of painkiller to ease his passing.

The dying man whispered a word, hoarsely and too low to understand. But the courier thought it might have been his late wife's name. His voice full of urgency, the sniper said it again, and leaning closer, the courier realised with a feeling of cold dread that he wasn't saying Carla.

Leaning back the courier looked around, feeling as if he had swallowed a couple of rocks.

"Cass?"  
The former merchant looked up, she had been watching out for more mutants but they seemed to have gotten them all. Not that it had done Boone any good anymore.  
"What", she said, her voice flat and cold.  
"I think... you should come over here."  
"I'd rather not", Cass replied, avoiding the courier's eyes.  
"I think you should", the young man gave back. "I think he asked for you."

Cassidy looked up sharply, with widening eyes, and the courier could only shrug helplessly. With a face set in tight lines, Cass came hurrying over.

"What did he say?"  
"Nothing but your name..."

Cassidy knelt down beside the dying man and took his hand. Boone in turn opened his eyes again, already glassy with a dull sheen to them. He knew it was over, it seemed he was just hanging on by sheer force of will for a couple of moments longer.  
"Cass..." he managed to say.  
Cassidy ran her fingers over the sniper's hands. "What is it, Craig?"

He opened his lips to speak, but never emitted a sound. It took both Cass and the courier a while to realise that he was gone.

Cassidy stared mutely at the sniper's face, a thin trail of tears trickling down her cheeks. She stayed like this even as the courier began to go through the dead man's pockets, his survival instinct stronger even than his grief. Taking back what supplies he could find, he came across a neatly folded piece of paper. Remembering the letter to Carla Boone had spoken about he was about to put it back when he realised the name on the letter wasn't Carla. Swallowing heavily, he handed the letter to Cass.

Cass took it and her eyes widened and her face paled. With trembling fingers she unfolded the paper.

_Cass,_

_When you're reading this, I didn't make it. I probably never made myself tell you, either. Sorry about that. I can be a coward, too. Wish it could have been otherwise. Wish I had more guts, but I couldn't stomach you looking at me with pity. Don't know if you noticed it, but your laugh made me smile. The most brilliant laugh I've ever heard. Don't know if it could've worked between us. Wish it would have, but we're never going to find that out now. Have one for me, think of me now and then.  
_

_Craig._

Cass leaned back with her face ash grey and her cheeks wet. With trembling fingers she slowly took the beret of Boone's head, pressed it to her chest, then took off her old, shoddy rattan hat and placed it on his.

She helped the courier pile a cairn of stones onto his body so the carrion eaters wouldn't desecrate his corpse, the last thing they could do for him. Cass turned away from the grave wiping her face on her sleeve, but didn't look back.

It struck the courier as heart wrenching as it was odd that his last sight of Boone was of him wearing an old, rattan cowboy hat.


	5. Nothing

**Boone/Gloria van Graff: Nothing  
**

_Two people fucking on a counter in a shop in Freeside. That's all, really._

* * *

He wasn't dumb. Maybe a bit slow in the uptake, which was why people thought him dumb. But he wouldn't have gotten as far as he had, back then, if he had been dumb. And sometimes, seeming dumb could even be an advantage. People expected nothing of him and left him in peace. And nothing was exactly what he wanted to give.

And although he might be slow, he had recognised that look she had given him. Part appreciation, part calculation, coupled with a small smirk and a wink. Later that night, he had come back, and as half-expected, half-hoped, the door had been unlocked. He had slid in, and had found her waiting for him.

They didn't lose any time now. She smiled, and he didn't. He walked up to her, took her chin in his hand and kissed her. From then on, everything was primal instinct. She moaned into his kiss when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, and dug her fingers into his belt. He pressed her body against the counter, moved his lips across her cheeks, down her neck, dug his teeth into the soft flesh at the base of her throat. She hissed, and proceeded with unbuckling his belt.

He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her onto the counter, spreading her legs with his hands. She was prepared, wearing a short skirt and no underwear. His pants were tightening around his throbbing cock when he reached out and touched her.

"You're wet."  
"I've been waiting for you."  
"Did you get yourself off?"  
"No, I left that to you."  
"Huh. Good."

He claimed her lips in another rough kiss, the way she acted, she seemed to like it rough. He then unzipped his pants, unpacked his cock and, digging his fingers into her hips he shifted her in position. She moaned again, in anticipation this time. When he slid into her, he couldn't suppress a hiss of his own. She was hot and wet, ready and eager for him, so unlike the whores he had taken. This was better. This meant nothing.  
She asked nothing of him, and nothing was exactly what he wanted to give. What he could give. He began to move, slow at first, then faster and harder. She urged him on, crossed her legs at his back to pull him in, and he complied. A whore would have done that to get him off that much faster, but she wanted it. And he fucked her harder.

Sweat was beginning to bead on his temples as he pounded into her, and her head dropped back with a moan. He leaned forward and dug his teeth in the base of her throat again. The sound she emitted was halfway between a moan and a wail, and he felt her clench around him moments later. Increasing his speed he fucked her through her climax, making her bite her lips as she tried not to scream to loud, and then he reached his own point of no return. He spilled himself into her with a throaty gasp and dropped his head for a few moments, heart racing and legs trembling, propped up on his hands on the counter on either side of her hips. She smiled up at him.

"That was good."  
"Yeah."  
"Maybe you'll come back?"  
"Maybe."  
"I'll be here."

He pulled back, ignored the mess, and packed his cock away again, zipped up his pants and buckled his belt. She was still sitting on the counter, her legs spread and her cunt dripping his cum. She didn't say anything else, and he had nothing to say. He left, closing the door behind him, and heard, moments later, the door behind him being locked. He left, walking through the silent, nightly streets of Freeside. Maybe he would really come back. They were in Freeside quite often these days, and the Silver Rush wasn't that far out of the way, either.

This had been better than nothing, and nothing was precisely what he had left, after what had happened to him at Cottonwood Cove and Bitter Springs. He had hoped for nothing, and as expected, nothing was precisely what he felt.


	6. Streets of Freeside

**F!Courier/Vulpes: Streets of Freeside  
**

_A good karma F!Courier tries to make Vulpes see the wrongs of his ways._

* * *

"So you think the only way to live is yours."  
"I do not think it, profligate, I know it." He is about to turn away.  
"Wait."

He halts his steps, but doesn't turn around. If she wants something from him, she can well come to him. She knows it, and isn't bothered by it because there's more at stake here than just her pride. She walks down the steps and comes to halt beside him.

"You think everything here is worthless."  
"Sinners, profligates, whores." He lifts one eyebrow in distaste.  
"You know, standing here, I could almost agree with you." She smiles, her brown eyes sparkle for a second before dulling again. "Will you humour me for, say, half an hour?"  
He crosses his arms. "Why should I?"  
She shrugs. "You've only seen one side of the coin."  
"The one that matters."  
"How can you be so sure of that if you haven't seen the other?"  
He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. "Half an hour", he says.

The courier beckons him to follow her, relief written all over her. They head for the gate to Freeside.

"I have been here", he says. "I have seen the way these profligates root around in the dirt like the swine they are."  
"I am sure of that", she replies, not looking at him. "Will you still humour me?"  
"Lead the way."

They enter Freeside, pass the little boy that works for Mick and Ralph. His cries fade into the background as he follows the courier around a corner and down an alley, onto a small plaza between half-ruined houses. His lips curl in distaste and she can understand it. It is dirty, refuse is littering the street. The sewers have long since stopped functioning, and the smell of human waste is strong.

A toothless old man sits on a chair, basking in the afternoon sun. His face is gaunt and crinkled like old leather, but he seems contend.

The courier stops and points. "See that old man?"  
"A ruin, to be sure. Why would anyone want to waste away like that?"  
The courier looks at the man of the legion and smiles, a strange, knowing smile. "Wait", she says.

They don't have to wait very long. A young woman rounds a corner, a gaggle of children trailing behind, from a boy of about ten years down to a toddler walking at the hands of his bigger sisters. A baby sits in a sling on her hip. The old man sees them and his face lights up into a brilliant, happy smile.

"Granddad!" The children shriek in delight and flock around the old man, patting his knees, and the toddler climbs into his lap. The young woman laughs and tells the children to give their gran space to breathe. She offers the old man a bowl of food and he eats it while she sits down on the ground beside his chair and nurses her baby, both their faces content. The toddler occasionally asks for a spoonful, gladly given to him by the old man.

"You think living to a ripe old age is wasteful and degrading."  
He does not reply.

They leave the old man and his grandchildren, walk down the street. She bids him to follow her as she enters the old Mormon fort. He hesitates, but he gave her half an hour. So he follows, and the heavy oaken doors close behind them.

She speaks to a female doctor with a spiky hairstyle utterly unbefitting for a woman. Smiling, she comes back to him and leads him to a tent, where she bids him wait. There they stand, and listen to a woman scream and howl in pain. A young man is pacing back and forth in front of the tent, his face pale.  
The woman howls again and there is silence. A tall, blonde man sticks his head out shortly afterwards, looking tired but smiling, incredibly pleased with himself. He opens the flap.  
"Congratulations", he says to the young man. "It's a boy."

The young man all but yelps in delight and storms into the tent. Stepping a little closer, the courier and the man of the Legion can peek inside. A woman is resting on one of the beds, her face pale and sweaty, but with a proud, beaming smile on her face.  
"We have a son, Michael", she says, her voice hoarse and yet shining with happiness. "We have a son."  
He kneels down beside her bed, tears staining his face. "Well hello junior", he says, his voice hoarse. "Welcome to the world my son."  
Then the two look at each other, he kisses her tenderly and her attention shifts to the bundle in her arms again. With a smile as tender as milk she runs a finger down the baby's tiny cheek while the man runs a hand through her hair. "Mary I'm so proud of you", he says softly. "Thank you. I love you, you know."  
She smiles without taking the eyes off the baby. "Shall we give him your father's name?"  
He kisses her temple. "You make me the happiest man on earth, Mary."  
She smiles at him this time, and they kiss again.

The courier steps back, and the man of the Legion follows her. They leave the fort, and as they head for the gate out of Freeside, a cluster of boys pass them by. They are kicking a ball made of rags, and their happy shouts and laughter echo between the houses.

At the gate, she faces him again.

"Will any slave woman of the Legion look that way at her son when he is laid into her arms after she bore him under terrible pain?"  
He does not reply.  
"Will any boy born by a slave woman ever play with a ball? Ever laugh like these boys do?"  
He still does not reply.  
She looks at him. "Not everything about these people is damnable."  
"Your time is up", is the only thing he replies. He turns away, and vanishes through the gate.

The courier watches him go.

He makes his way back to report to his master and it takes him all the way to the fort to ban the sounds of happily laughing, playing children out of his mind.

Yet in his dreams, those sounds come back to haunt him.


	7. Havamal

**Alternate Universe: Hávamál**

_What if __Ceasar´s Legion wasn´t inspired by Rome, but by the Vikings?_

Since I live in Scandinavia and am technically married to a viking, I couldn't not fill this._  
_

* * *

_Når frem du vil gå,_  
_skal først du spejde_  
_ved alle døre,_  
_ved hver en udgang,_  
_thi uvist er at vide,_  
_hvor uvenner sidde_  
_hos ved hus._

* * *

It was clear to the Courier as he got closer to Nipton that whatever Ghost had seen, whatever she might have thought had happened – reality was worse. Corpses, bled out and impaled on long spears lined the streets. The faces of the corpses, twisted in agony, showed that most of them had lived through the process, and as the Courier made his way through the streets of Nipton he kept his eyes firmly on the ground.

Rounding a corner he saw what must be the men who did this and he stopped, staring at the group of men. They wore knee-long, belted tunics and laced boots, round helmets with a nasal guard and all of them bore round, painted shields with a round brass buckle in the middle. All of them were armed, too, with a long spear and either a small axe in his belt or a sword. They didn't seem hostile now, however, not even when the Courier dared to move closer.

The doors to what might have been the town hall opened and another man stepped out. He, too, was wearing a long tunic and laced boots, but his clothes were a rich deep red and brown. His long, dark hair was braided at the back of his head and the beard lining his chin was closely cropped and well kept. He wore no helmet but a cape, fastened to his tunic with two, large golden buckles with a spiral design engraved onto it.

He came to halt in front of the Courier, mustered him with a smile of slight disdain, and introduced himself as Loki. He mustered the Courier and shrugged his cape back before crossing his arms.  
"Don't worry", he said in a dark and silky voice and the Courier found himself thinking of a spider, speaking to her prey in such a voice as she would swath it in layers of sticky, deadly silk. "I won't have you put onto the long spear like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by."

The Courier cautiously lowered his gun and the man called Loki hooked his thumbs into his belt and continued. "I want you to witness the town of Nipton, to memorize every detail. And then, when you move on? I want you to teach everyone you meet the lesson that Thor's Vikings taught here, especially any NCR troops you run across."

"What lessons... did you teach here?", the Courier asked, trying not to look at the mutilated corpses lining the street. Their smell was bad enough.

"Where to begin?" A thin smile appeared on Loki's lips. "That they are weak, and we are strong? This much was known already. But the depths incapability, their arrogance? Nipton serves as the perfect object lesson."  
"What..." the courier looked around, but he didn't look too closely. "What on earth happened here?"  
"Nipton was a place of weakness", Loki replied, sounding almost bored. "Decadent, and corrupt. They didn't see the need of being strong and alert. They welcomed everyone, served everyone, and like a whore, didn't care whom they served. This was their undoing. Thor's Vikings will take what they please, and the weak and unworthy will be our cattle and sustenance. We have yet to find a worthy foe."

"You... you slaughtered innocent civilians?"

"Innocent?" A harsh kind of amusement in his voice, Loki shook his head. "Cowardly, more like. Weak and cowardly. Not worthy of anything but death and slavery. There was no man with spirits here, one who could have a place among our warriors. People like these are not worth wasting pity upon."  
The Courier took a step back, watching as the men assembled in two lines behind Loki, their weapons at the ready. Whatever he would do, he was too afraid at this moment to do anything that might anger these fearsome warriors. He had no intention of facing his death on a spear thrust into his asshole. "I'll do as you say", he replied, knowing that the fear showed in his voice and that it was the cause of the disdain in Loki's look.

"Then I bid you farewell", Loki replied. "Until we meet again. And remember: _Ukæk mand tror evig at leve når han flygter for fare. Ælde giver ham aldrig fred, om end spyd ham den skænker._" He smiled. "Cowardice will not gain you entry into Odin's glorious halls."

The Courier watched them go and wasn't sure if he just had been given a warning or a good advice.

* * *

1: At every door-way, ere one enters, one should spy round, one should pry round  
for uncertain is the witting that there be no foeman sitting within, before one on the floor

2: A coward believes he will ever live if he keep him safe from strife, but old age leaves him not long in peace though spears may spare his life.

Taken from the older Edda: Havamal


	8. Midnight

**Flak/Shrapnel: Midnight  
**

_Just two guys tugging it together._

* * *

It had been a long day. Five caravans, tree scavengers, and a lunatic little girl selling energy weapons worth half of Rivet City itself. It had been a long night, too, with three beers each in the Rudder, talking about the events of the day, and it was around midnight when they switched off the light in their cabin and went to sleep.  
Or tried to, at least. Some of the pictures the day had left them with were hard to get rid of, and most of those concerned the Vault girl. Both men found it hard to come to rest, and each heard in the rustling of the other's blanket that the other was no better off than himself.

"Where'dya think she got all those Enclave guns from?", Shrapnel finally asked into the darkness.  
The only answer he got was a non-committing grunt from the other cot, indicating Flak neither knew nor cared about the answer to that question.  
To be honest, it wasn't really the guns she had put onto the counter that had caught Shrapnel's attention – both their attention, in fact – but the half-way unzipped leather jacket revealing a low cut tank top revealing a very nice view that had done it. "She sure has a nice ass, though."  
"Hm." It still sounded as if Flak couldn't be bothered, and in the dark silence around them, Shrapnel dreamily thought about the view of her ascending the stairs in tight, black leather pants. His hand found the way behind the waistband of his boxers without him consciously sending it there.

"You think she'd ever do one of us?"  
This time, Flak snorted. His voice was a low rumble as he replied. "What else are you dreaming of, lunkhead? Don't know how old she is, buddy, but she's most likely half our age."  
Moving his hand up from his balls to close it around his half-hard dick, Shrapnel adjusted his position and sighed. "Well, a man can dream..."  
On the other cot, Flak adjusted his position as well. "Yeah, but dream is about the only thing we can do. Not likely she would touch one of us with a ten foot pole."  
"You had to bring up the subject of poles, didn't you."  
Flak emitted a low, dirty chuckle. "Sorry, buddy. It's hard not to think of poles when thinking about that sweet little as of hers in black leather pants."  
This time, both of them chuckled.

After a moment of silence, Flak's breathing picked up a little speed and he exhaled a heavy breath. "I just hope she doesn't pick up on us."  
"On what? On us jerking off while thinking about her ass?"  
"On how we're crushing on that girl as if we were teenage boys." He shifted his back and adjusted his grip on himself. "Not only her ass. The girl herself. There's a lot of fine ass around that doesn't keep us awake at nights."  
"True." Shrapnel slowed down a little and closed his eyes. "And I don't think about painting Angie's lips white, for that matter."  
Flak emitted a low, half-desperate groan. "You just had to say that, didn't you."  
For a few moments none of them said a word, but both their breathing picked up speed.

"That goddamn leather armour", Shrapnel breathed heavily after a while. "Just imagine that zipper going down all the way."  
Flak's only answer was a low growling sound.  
"And that top going all the way up."  
"Thanks, buddy, I've got enough to do dealing with my own dirty fantasies without you making it worse." He was breathing hard and fast now.  
Shrapnel chuckled breathlessly. "How could I possibly make it worse? Weren't you thinking about her jugs?"  
"No", was the reply through gritted teeth. "I was lost in the image of getting a firm grip with each hand on each of her ass cheeks."  
"Oh god."  
"Huh."  
"Think she's a squealer or a screamer?", Shrapnel asked with a heavy huff of breath.  
"I'd make her scream, buddy", Flak replied raggedly. "I'd totally make her scream."

The image of the Vault girl naked on her knees was what brought them both over the edge. Shrapnel came into his hand with a deep, husky moan and on the other side of the cabin, Flak did the same with a suffocated grunt a moment later. Both men lay still, catching back their breath, when after a moment, Shrapnel let go of his dick and chuckled.  
"First."  
Flak snorted. "Bloody dipshit."


	9. Ides of March

**Caesar, Lucius, (F!Courier): Ides of March**

_ Caesar receives a message from the courier. A very unpleasant one, not only due to its contents, but also due to the means of its delivery._

* * *

"What is it?" Angry at the interruption, Caesar shot the messenger a burning glare and the young recruit looked as if he was about to shit his kilt.  
"A message from the Courier, oh Caesar."  
"The Courier herself?" Caesar shot a glance at Lucius and nodded towards the young man. "Very well. You are forgiven. What is this message?"  
Practically sagging with relief the recruit bowed. "It is a sealed crate that someone dropped off the cliffs into Cottonwood Cove, oh Caesar."  
"Bring it in, then."

The second the recruit entered the tent with his load it was clear to everyone that something was wrong. The mongrels got restless and scented the air, whining and shaking their heads. Some moments later, the smell emanating from the crate reached the human senses, too. Wrinkling his nose with an otherwise stony face Caesar eyed the box, no more than fifteen inches in edge length, and could guess what it might contain. "You may leave", he said to the recruit without looking up.

Once he was gone, Caesar ordered one of his praetorians to open the crate. The man did as he was told even though his reluctance was clearly visible, and as he broke the seals, the stench of rot and old blood got worse. He opened the lid and both Caesar and Lucius leaned forward, expecting the worst and yet caught completely unawares. Not only because after several days of travelling and being tossed down a cliff inside the box hadn't done the contents any good.

In the box sat the severed head of Vulpes Inculta, a neatly folded piece of paper between his lips.

The praetorian who had opened the box was unable to suppress a retch. "By Mars", he rasped. "How is that possible?"  
"How indeed." Caesar kept an iron grip on himself, he felt like throwing up too, but he leaned forward and pulled the piece of paper out from between the bluish lips.  
"What... what should we do with... him?" The praetorian was hard pressed to keep his composure.  
"Knowing Inculta, he would have cared little about what happens to his mortal remains. For now, leave it. We have more important things at hand than caring about the body of a single man when so many more are likely to follow soon." With that, he unfolded the note.

_As this, so that. Beware the ides of March._

He read it out loud, and looked up at Lucius who returned the glance with a deep frown. "Is that all?"  
"That is all." Caesar dropped the bloodied note and leaned back into his chair. "Lucius, what day is today?"  
"The fifteenth of march, oh Caesar", his Right Hand replied, and fell silent with a pale face.  
"Right." Caesar folded his hands in his lap. "Tell the men to be ready for the attack."

But what good would it do them? His most capable, intelligent man, the pride of his frumentarii, his best man, had been overcome by a woman who was clearly mad. And she was coming for them now.

Caesar cast one last glance at what remained of the man who had been like a son for him and then rested his eyes on the flap of his tent again. He could smell burning canvas.


	10. Sunset

**Arcade/F!Courier: Sunset**

_The courier, oblivious of Arcade's sexual orientation, falls in love with him. This can only end one way, of course._

* * *

It might have been ridiculous if it hadn't been so sad.

Here they were, sitting side by side watching the sun set over the Mojave, and the warm glow of the heat of the day was slowly vanishing into a dreadful cold. Arcade felt like he'd been hit with a frying pan, and he was quickly running out of things to say. He hadn't seen this coming.

For months he'd been travelling with her through the Mojave. They'd fought side by side, shed their blood side by side, slept side by side, sometimes even curled up under one blanket for warmth in those bitingly cold desert nights. He hadn't thought a thing about it, because he thought she knew.  
He'd been wrong.

And now, after their victory, after Vegas was free and the future was a bright line on the horizon, all Arcade could see was that her sun was about to set, not to rise again anytime soon. He cleared his throat, but all of his wits were gone. After that confession, there was really only one answer that would count for her, and he couldn't give her that.

Yet his silence was an answer in itself, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her hunch her shoulders and look away.

"I guess that was rather stupid", she finally said.  
Arcade could never have imagined her spry voice sound so lifeless. He cleared his throat again. "I wouldn't say that. It's just..." What the hell could he say that wouldn't hurt her further? He was cherishing their friendship far too much to lose her completely, but most likely, that was what would happen now. "Look..."  
"You don't have to say anything, Arc", she said and pulled up her knees to sling her arms around them. "It's not your fault."  
"And it's not yours, either. Look, I... I don't know what to say, apart from... it's not because of you. Or of someone else. It's because... Well, I assumed you knew, but obviously, you didn't. I don't... I'm not into girls, you know."  
She silently stared ahead for a long while before she snorted and dropped her head. "You're joking."  
"I wouldn't joke about matters like these, as snarky as I can be."  
"Yeah, I know." Her voice was a husky whisper. "But fuck... it's ridiculous. I mean... I've been crushing on you for months now, imagining all kinds of things and every time we slept together wondering if I'd have the guts this time to... you know. Make a move... Good thing I didn't, I guess."  
"It would have been... a little awkward." Arcade cleared his throat again.  
She chuckled mirthlessly and shook her head. "All that time...", she whispered, almost as if speaking to herself. "All that time, and I never realised you're gay. I guess I didn't want to see it."  
Arcade didn't know what to reply, so he kept his silence.

They silently kept staring at the vanishing sun, and remained like that until the stars came out and the crickets were chirping their endless, monotonous song of the desert night.

"I know that's the last thing you want to hear right now", Arcade finally managed to say. "But I have to say it, because I mean it. I don't want to lose your friendship over this. Do you think... I mean, obviously, you need some time to get over this, but do you think we could be friends again? At one point?"  
She didn't answer for a while, and when she did, her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "I think so. I hope so. We've been a good team, you and me."  
For a while, the only sounds around them were the crickets and the wind kicking up some dust.  
"I think I want to be alone now", she finally said.  
"I understand." Arcade got up and brushed the dust off his pants. "I guess I'll be back at my research now. You know where to find me."  
"I do. See you around, Arc."

Arcade left her, his heart heavy in his chest. He had only ever been at the receiving end of those words, and for the first time in his life that he had to rebuke someone it had to be the one person he thought of as his very best friend. He would never have hurt her that way, but he couldn't change who he was.  
Not even for her.


	11. Trapped

**Flak/Shrapnel: Trapped**

_What do you do when you've got it bad for your best buddy? You keep it to yourself. Because you know it's never going to happen._

* * *

When Shrapnel opened his eyes he immediately felt as if someone had jabbed a ten inch needle into each of his eyes. With a groan, he rolled onto his belly, eyes pinched shut again, and waited until the world had stopped spinning and the throbbing in his head had subsided enough for him to dare another attempt at opening his eyes.  
He opened his eyes.  
Immediately, even without looking around, he spotted four empty bottles, a sure indicator as to why his head was hurting like fuck. He slowly pushed himself up and after a bit of cautious shuffling, managed to get himself into a sitting position. He could've sworn the fucking ship was suddenly at sea again.

The rolling motion lessened after another moment and Shrapnel cautiously lifted his head to look around. More empty bottles. And a pair of legs. His eyes swivelled upward and finally came to rest on Flak's face who was staring unmoving ahead while smoking with an uncharacteristic ferocity. He didn't seem to notice Shrapnel whatsoever.

"Jesus, buddy, what happened last night?"  
Finally Flak acknowledged his presence, and the look he gave him made Shrapnel's blood run cold. He was just about to ask what the fuck the matter was when his memories kept crawling back to him like something dark and cold and slimy out of a hole in an irradiated swamp. A bitter coldness buried its fist in his guts.

They'd been drinking. As usual. And as usual, they'd been cracking a few jokes about the yokels on the ship, especially that vault kid and his friend, two green, snot-nosed lordlings who thought they could rule the wasteland with their slicked-up hair and an oversized worm painted on their jackets.  
They'd drunk some more.  
And a little more, because the going had been good.  
And years of frustration, of hiding, of playing games and deceiving, of living a fucking lie as huge as the fucking ship they lived in, years of a craving that had been worse than any kind of withdrawal he had ever been through had suddenly broken free.  
And he'd done the one thing he had sworn to himself he'd never, ever do.

The memory was a little hazy, but Flak's demeanour left little doubt that his intentions had been all too obvious.

He was trapped. And there was only one way out.

"What the fuck, man? What happened? I can't remember a fucking thing!"  
Flak flicked his butt end away. "You fucking asshole went for my dick." His eyes were fathomless pools of darkness.

Shrapnel imagined that this was what holding a gun to your conk and pulling the trigger felt. Panic, finality, and nothing.

"What?" He jumped up, ignored the swimming head, the churning belly, suppressed the urge to retch and puke until his eyes watered and went at his friend with both fists. "You asshole! You lying bastard!" He managed to land the first blow before Flak had time to retaliate.  
The chair toppled over when Flak jumped up and rammed his fist into Shrapnel's face. "Fucktard!"  
"You lying bastard!" Shrapnel spat out blood from his split lip and swung another blow, fuelled on by sheer desperation. Not that. This was the last thing he wanted to do, but if he didn't do it, he'd lose everything. He could never have what he wanted, but he'd be damned if he lost his best friend on top of everything else. "I ain't no bloody fag!" He managed to land another blow and Flak, stumbling back under the impact, fell over the chair and landed flat on his back.

Quite obviously, he still suffered from the after effects of the content of all the empty bottles strewn around their cabin too, or Shrapnel would never have been able to send him sprawling on his ass like that. He dived after him without pausing, however, and got Flak by the yokes. "I ain't no bloody fag", he hissed with as much venom in his voice as his self-loathing could supply him with. "You dirty bastard."  
Flak stared at him with narrowed eyes, his mouth a thin line. "Fuck if I know", he said hoarsely. "But you sure as fuck didn't bury your hand in my crotch accidentally."

Shrapnel shoved him back with a growl and Flak's head hit the ground. Then he jumped up and with a shudder and ran his hands through his hair. He was at the end of his tether.  
Behind him, he could hear Flak pick himself up. Could hear him step behind him.  
"That was some raider bullshit, wasn't it?"  
Shrapnel clenched and unclenched his fists. "Whaddya mean?"  
"I mean that there's all kinds of shit you hear about those bastards. Drugs, booze, that sort of thing. You just don't care anymore, when you're that strung out, if you bury your stinking dick into cheeks or fur, ain't?"  
"I ain't no raider anymore", Shrapnel replied, his voice still a little shaky.  
"Yeah, but... well." Flak's voice was his usual, dark rumble again. "I've never seen you as shitfaced as last night. That much booze can do strange things to a man's mind. Or his memory, for that matter." It was obviously meant as an olive branch, and Shrapnel had no choice but to take it.

He finally looked up at his friend and found Flak look back at him with a small, crooked smile on his face. "Come on, buddy, let's have a coffee. I still feel like shit, and that shiner you've just given me doesn't make it any better."  
Shrapnel rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "I guess I got a bit carried away there."  
"I've had worse", Flak gave back and lit himself another smoke before offering the pack to Shrapnel.  
He took one, bent over the offered lighter and leaned back again puffing his cheeks. "I sure can have a bit of a nasty temper when I'm hung over."  
Flak chuckled under his breath and jerked his head towards the door. "Saying you have a little bit of a tempter is like saying an atomic bomb is a little bit radioactive. Come on."  
Forcing a grin onto his face Shrapnel followed his lead.

And another tiny little piece of his soul died.


	12. Say you, say me

**Good Karma F!LW, Lucas Simms: Say you, say me**

_The LW has a thing for Simms and discovers, after the events at the purifier and after being declared dead, that he shares her feelings. Fluff._

_Say you, Say me, by Lionel Richie_

* * *

She had never stopped thinking about him.

His had been the first friendly face she had encountered after stumbling out of the Vault like a hatchling bird falling out of its warm and cosy nest. And to stick to the analogy, his town had become sort of a nest for her, too. She had a place to live there, a safe little haven where she could rest, heal and get up to speed again, and after her father's death that house had sheltered her for weeks until the tears had finally stopped and she could tackle life again.

And during all that time between stumbling into town for the first time and now trudging back there with weary steps, leaving the citadel behind for what she hoped was forever, she had never stopped thinking about him. True, he was a good bit older than her, if not old enough to be her father, but somehow, whenever she thought of him, his friendly smile and his deep and smooth voice, she felt a longing for him that she had never felt before.

And now... well, she'd been dead. Or very near so. She had stepped into the purifier to turn it on, to fulfil her parents' dream, had willingly sacrificed her own life, and her last thought had been about him, and her last feeling a bitter regret that she had never approached him about her feelings.  
But for some strange twist of fate, she was still alive.

And her life was her own. She had already died once, so what could actually be worse? What could actually hurt her anymore?

The metal screeching of the gate tore her out of her musings, her steps had brought her home without her consciously thinking about it. Deputy Weld gave her a friendly salute, and as she passed the gate, she felt a huge and heavy load slide off her shoulders like a heavy winter coat on a warm summer day.  
A small smile spread on her face as she looked down into Megaton's crater. Just as she was about to turn left for her house a friendly and familiar voice greeted her. She turned around to see Sherriff Simms head into her direction, his facial expression more than surprised.

Having reached her, he opened and shut his mouth a few times, but obviously didn't know what to say.  
"I guess you heard I was dead", she said after a moment. It was hard to meet his eyes, there was a deep and undeniable emotion in them she hadn't seen before.  
"We did", Simms finally said. "We even had a remembrance service in the church last week." Then he rubbed the back of his neck, a strange and mildly embarrassed smile on his face. "I guess we can scrap the memorial stone we started carving."  
"I am... I am honoured, Sherriff. I... I honestly don't know what to say."  
"Well." Simms shrugged his gun into place. "You did this town a mighty big favour, and saved the whole bloody Wasteland. If you ask me, then we still could raise the stone and just change the wording. That you didn't lose your life over it doesn't change the fact that you saved us all with making the purifier work."

They exchanged a long look.

"I only did what had to be done", she finally said.  
"Not many people would think like that about their own life, Miss."  
She shrugged. "It's my life, and my conscience. I just... I'm a bit at a loss about what to do with my life now."  
"I am sure you'll think of something", Simms said after a pause. "In the meantime, I tell the people here to stop mourning and prepare a celebration instead."  
"A celebration?"  
A small smile spread on Simms' face. "A celebration. Our hero has returned home."

As she watched him go, her heart was hammering inside her chest and she wondered if she had been mistaken about the feelings she had seen – or believed she had seen – in his eyes when he had realised she hadn't died. She watched him hurry down into the crater and holler the good news about her return, and with a small smile of her own, entered her house where a bed and a change of clothes beckoned like an oasis in the desert.

The people of Megaton, elated by the fact that their hero wasn't dead after all, managed to rig up the victory feast Simms had mentioned that very night. Invited via Harden Simms who positively glowed (from happy excitement and a thorough scrubbing), she now stood in the middle of a crowd of happy people offering her drinks or food and in general just wanting to be in her vicinity. It was getting a bit much and the Lone Wanderer wished she could just leave and go to bed.  
She didn't, though, because she didn't want to spoil the people's happiness. These people had so little in life to be happy about, and so she kept on smiling and carefully sipped at her drinks.

It was long past midnight, and the last of the happy celebrators had slowly staggered off into their beds, when a low voice hailed her from behind just as she was thoughtfully staring into the radioactive pond in which the bomb sat like a monument.  
"I told them to give it some time as you had just arrived, but they were too happy to listen to me."  
She looked up to see the Sherriff, a slightly apologetic smile on his face.  
"They've got so little to be happy about", he went on, speaking out her own thoughts from before. "I didn't have the heart to tell them off."  
She smiled with a little shrug. "I know."

They stood in silence for a while until she said: "I think I need to go to bed."

The Sherriff nodded, bade her a good night and tipped the brim of his hat as she turned away. But after a few steps, she stopped with a frown forming on her face. What did she have to lose?  
She turned around again. "Would you like to come along? We could have another drink together in peace and quiet."  
Simms hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess tonight everyone is too drunk or too hung over to cause any trouble."

She closed the door behind her and noticed Simms look around with unmasked curiosity as he leaned his gun against a locker. "Haven't been here in ages."  
Staring into the fridge, she looked at Simms over her shoulder. "Beer or whisky?"  
"I take a beer, thank you."  
She offered him the bottle and as he took it, a small and almost shy smile appeared o his face. "I never asked you your first name."  
"Annie."  
He raised his bottle. "Lucas." His smile was terribly infectious, and as they touched their bottles together, she felt her breath catch in her throat.  
"Want to look around upstairs?"

Simms cast a look up the stairs to where the jukebox was standing. "What else did Moira talk you into buying?"  
"Just some odds and ends", Annie replied with a chuckle. "And despite what people gossip about, up there is just an infirmary and Wadsworth; I keep him on stand-by there. Oh. And my bed." She took a step forward and put her bottle down on the workbench. "Want to have a look?"  
"What? At your bed?"

She took another step forward and could see the change in his face, the look in his eyes. He, too, put his bottle down and slowly tilted his head. And as they stood there in silence, so close they could feel the warmth of each other's body, she finally dare to do what she had longed for ever since she had left Megaton for the first time. She reached out and slowly removed Simms' hat to place it onto the workbench, then ran a hand down his face. "At my bed", she whispered.

Simms closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "I hope you are not too drunk not to know what you are talking about."  
"What makes you think so?"  
He opened his eyes again. "I wouldn't want you to regret anything come morning."  
"Why should I?"  
He closed his fingers around the hand on his cheek and brought it to his lips. "Because you're so young, and I am probably old enough to be your father."  
Annie closed her eyes and sighed when his lips touched her fingertips. "I have been waiting for this moment almost since first I saw you, you know. I don't care. They call me the Lone Wanderer, and I am so tired of being alone. I just want to be close to you."  
Simms let go of her hand and took a deep breath. "There's just one more thing...", he began, but Annie placed a finger onto his lips.  
"I know. I have no intention of replacing her or taking her place. She was the mother of your son and should always have a place in your heart. Just... I just want to have a place in there, too."  
He silently stared at her for a moment, then swallowed and cupped her cheeks in his hands. Annie closed her eyes, and moments later felt his lips on hers.

He carried her up the stairs and placed her on the bed, undressed her there without haste and with gentle touches. He noticed her nervousness, her insecurity, and although they didn't speak another word he was gentle and careful as he touched her, explored her body with knowing hands and hungry lips. She had never been so close to any man, but the feelings he arose in her were strong enough to make her forget her fear. In the end he hurt her, just as expected, but it was only a sting, a second of pain, and then nothing but pleasure. His lips found hers again when he moved inside her, claiming her as no man had claimed her before, and she gave herself to him, his touch her whole awareness.

When he came he pushed her over the edge as well, and even as she thought she would be swallowed by an endless void, she landed safely in his arms.

Listening to his slowly calming heartbeat, her face buried in his chest, with his arms closed tightly around her, Annie fell asleep, for the first time since that fateful night at peace and in comfort. She had come home for good.


	13. Poison

**Bad Karma F!LW/Forty: Poison**

_The FLW wants to get into Forty's pants. Forty doesn't mind. Rough and dirty sex ensues._

_Poison by Alice Cooper_

* * *

Night fell and the heat of the day vanished into a blessed coolness. Joyce lit herself a smoke and watched Jericho busily trying to pick Carolina up. Some guys never learn.  
Roughly half an hour passed this time before Jericho came back to her table and grumpily ordered a drink. Well. Ten minutes more than last time. Maybe he was getting somewhere, after all.

Joyce was just snubbing out her butt end when she caught sight of Forty heading for the bar and she almost licked her lips watching him. She had never seen a man like him, and was sure she never would. Hard, lean, muscled and no-nonsense. Good-looking without being a popinjay. Deep voice. She often wondered what his dick would be like.

He noticed her too and acknowledged her presence with a nod. No more than business partners. Slavers didn't have friends. And While Joyce had had dealings with Paradise Falls on more than one occasion, business partners were all they'd ever be.

She flicked on her lighter, remembering the annoying kid she had brought in today, the last one on Grouse's list. A kid from Big Town, and she had first stopped pleading and begging when Joyce had threatened her to cut off her tongue. She must have been pretty convincing, because she hadn't heard a single sound from her after that. Jericho had been chuckling for almost an hour.

Beside her, Jericho had finished his drink and declared he'd find himself a whore for the night. Joyce didn't give a fuck about what he spend his share of their caps on and just nodded, heading for the bar as soon as he had vanished out of sight.

Forty was still leaning on the bar and finished off his first beer.  
"Can I stand you a drink?"  
He squinted up at her, then cast a look around. "Where's your watchdog?"  
"Looking for a fuck."  
Forty propped himself up onto his elbows, his back to the bar. "And here I thought that was why he followed you like a mongrel."  
"What?" Joyce actually had to laugh. "You think I fuck him? Jericho? He's just a punk. A Wasteland raider who's gotten too old for the job. I keep him around 'cause he's good with a gun. Man, I wouldn't fuck him if he was the last man on earth."  
Forty pursed his lips as he stared straight ahead. When he finally looked at her again, he had a small, cocky smile on his face. "So... about that drink?"  
Joyce smiled as well and bought two whiskeys. The two of them then settled down at a table and drank in silence for a while.

Sure enough, it didn't take long before Joyce could feel a hand under the table sneak up her leg. A warm glow spread inside her lower belly as she looked up at Forty. He smiled at her under lowered eyelids.  
"I suppose you wouldn't know where a girl can have a little privacy around here, would you?"  
Forty's smile widened a little. "Hard to come by inside the walls. Outside though... lots of spots where you'd be out of sight." He grinned and added, as if it was an afterthought: "And out of earshot, of course."  
Joyce nodded thoughtfully and emptied her bottle. "I guess you could show me such a place, if I asked you nicely?"  
Forty chuckled coarsely and shook his head as he took another sip of beer. "I could, baby. Mind telling me what you'd need to be out of sight for?"  
"I haven't seen a decent dick in ages."  
This time Forty broke out into a rough and hearty laugh. "I like where this conversation is going." Then he knocked his bottle back and slammed it onto the table. "And once you've spotted such a dick?"  
"Then..." Joyce slowly ran her tongue across her lower lip. "Well, I guess then I'd try and find out if that dick could make me scream. Thus the needing to be out of earshot, you know."  
Forty turned his head to look at her, and his expression, his look under lowered eyelids, his small, cocky smile and the dark glow in his eyes, made the heat pool between her legs. "Then let's not waste any more time, baby."

Joyce followed him out through the gates, and as soon as they had closed behind them, Forty took her by the shoulders and shoved her into the wall. He ran two surprisingly tender fingers down her cheek as he leaned forward. "Such a pretty thing", he muttered. "And such a bad attitude."  
She dug one of her knees between his legs. "Being nice only gets you into more trouble than it's worth. Offer someone a hand and they bite your arm off. So I just give them a finger and be done with it."  
Forty chuckled against the skin of her neck and dug his fingers into her hair. "I like you, girl."  
"How convenient." Joyce closed her eyes and his lips met with hers in a hungry and greedy kiss.

She could hear him breathe hard and fast, and when she moved her leg she could feel a hard bulge in his pants that he rubbed against her thigh. A deep, rumbling growl escaped him.  
"Let's get out of sight and earshot, baby", he whispered hoarsely. "See if I can't make you scream, hm?"  
"Last guy who tried didn't succeed."  
"I hope you cut off his dick."  
"Nah. He fucked off when I threatened I would. Wimp."  
Forty chuckled again and released her hair. "Come on, baby."

He slung an arm around her shoulders as they headed for a corner and walked along the wall, and slid one hand inside her jacket. Joyce let him, but in turn, moved her hand sideways and down to cop a bit of a feel as well.  
"You want this to be over in ten seconds, baby?" His voice was gruff and his breathing ragged as he took her by the shoulders and almost slammed her back into the door of a lorry. "Because if you do, then go on winding me up like that."  
As an answer, Joyce lowered her eyelids and slowly opened the zipper of her jacket. She had him right where she wanted him, had been waiting for this moment for months now, and if it was over in ten seconds, then she would just make sure she'd get a second time. Forty leaned forward, resting his hands against the lorry on either side of her head.

"You wanna see the goods, baby? Just help yourself to a good handful of Forty."  
With a low chuckle Joyce looked him up and down and, not needing a second invitation, unbuckled the clasps of his armour. "Off with that."  
Forty leaned back, shrugged the battered combat armour off his shoulders and let his shirt follow suit. His torso was muscled and scarred, a sight that increased the heat between her legs.

He kissed her again as she went for his belt, this time thrusting his tongue into her mouth. As she fumbled with his fly he didn't bother with fineries and just tore her shirt up, exposing her breasts to the cool night air. He closed his hands around them, dug his fingers into her flesh with a lustful hum against her lips and rubbed his calloused thumbs across her tender nipples. Her legs growing weak in the knees Joyce moaned into his kiss as she finally had reached her goal, too.

Forty broke the kiss with a heavy huff of breath and bit her earlobe. "Wanna have a look?"  
Joyce tried to speak but her voice was a low whimper as his tongue ran across her ear and down her neck while his hands still pinched and kneaded her breasts and nipples. When he leaned back her skin felt cold where his touch left her and with a gasp, she opened her eyes again and let them sweep down his body. He had a truly impressive dick and to judge by the glistening drops hanging from the tip, a very eager one, too.  
"Whaddya think?" Forty asked her raggedly.  
"Impressive", was the only thing she could think of.  
He chuckled, then dug his hand into her hair and pulled her close. "Give him a kiss, baby."

Joyce licked her lips and, with Forty burying a hand into her hair, went onto her knees to give the tip of his dick a wet, soft kiss. Forty emitted a low growling sound and dug both his hands into her hair and giving in to his demand, Joyce opened her mouth and leaned forward, sucking his dick into her mouth with a low humming sound. Forty gasped and bucked into her.

His dick was almost more than she could handle, and he, of course, wouldn't let go. He thrust into her mouth, a firm grip in her hair, and it was all Joyce could do to keep breathing. On the other hand, she liked a man who knew what he wanted, and as she closed a few fingers around his balls his breathing and his thrusting picked up speed. Moments later he came with a low, hoarse groan, filling her mouth with spunk. She felt a trickle of it run out of a corner of her mouth.

When he finally pulled back, his dick hanging flat and relaxed, glistening with saliva and spunk, she looked up at him, her hair a mess and his juice dripping down her chin. His eyes glowed when he let go of her hair, took her by the shoulders and pulled her up.

"That was one hell of a blowjob, baby", he muttered hoarsely. "Best I had in years." With that he kissed her again, hungry and greedily, and Joyce returned the kiss. Forty flinched with a grunt when she shoved her tongue into his mouth and shovelled what she hadn't swallowed of his spunk right back into him, but didn't pull away. With a hoarse grunt he pushed her back into the door of the lorry again and let go of her shoulders to close his fingers around her breasts again while digging a knee between her legs.

"You hot little minx", he whispered raggedly against her lips while his own spunk was dripping down his chin. "You sure know how to drive a guy mad, don't you." He rubbed his thumbs across her nipples again.  
Her own hunger still unsatisfied Joyce bucked her lower body against his leg and dug her fingers into his bare shoulders so hard her nails left blood-red crescents in his skin.

"You want more of Forty, baby?" He dug his teeth into her shoulders, eliciting a low moan from her. "Just tell me so."  
"Bastard", Joyce chuckled huskily. "You think I came here to get you off and not me?"  
She dragged her nails down his back, leaving red welts in her wake, as Forty unbuckled her pants and pushed them down. His pants fell, too, as she reached his backside, and she slid her fingers into his boxers and dug them into his ass cheeks as he slipped a hard, calloused hand into her panties.  
"Christ, you're a hungry little bitch." A lustful hum escaped him as he slid his fingers into her hot and slick folds where the wetness already pooled in his hand. He pulled his hand out again, looked at his glistening fingers and with a slow, deliberate move, wiped his hand across her breasts. Joyce watched him, her chest heaving with heavy breaths, as he leaned forward to lick her own juice off her skin, his tongue running over her eagerly hardening nipples. "Oh god..." Her head fell back when he sucked and bit down. "Can you not just fuck me?"

Forty let go of her nipple with a dirty chuckle. "So delicious. And so hungry."  
"Fuck, yes. It's been ages since someone else but me has gotten me off."  
"And you think Forty can do the job?" He ran his tongue up her breastbone and dug his teeth into the soft skin on her throat.  
"If you can't, no one will", Joyce whispered, thrusting out her hips and lifting her chin. "You want me to beg?"  
"Tempting." Forty moved his hands down and closed them around her hips. "Just tell me you want me."  
"I want you, Forty", Joyce rasped, feeling his hardening dick press against the soft skin of her lower belly. "I thought that's bloody obvious by now."  
Forty chuckled against the skin of her neck and nipped at her skin again. "Good girl."

Joyce closed her eyes, feeling Forty breathe heavily against her skin as between her legs, she could feel his hand part her. Moments later his hand was replaced by something else, and he slid into her without resistance, filling her up to the brim. A deep, throaty moan escaped her.  
Forty surprised her then by effortlessly lifting her up by the hips, and as he pressed her back against the door of the ancient lorry he shoved her legs up for yet a better angle. When he began to move, Joyce could feel him reach her core with every thrust.  
"Like that?", he rasped. "You want it like that, baby?"  
Another heavy moan escaped her before she was able to form any words. "Yes, like that, Forty", she gasped, and as an answer, he increased his speed and ferocity. Joyce's moans matured into lustful screams as she felt her blood begin to glow in her veins.  
"That's a good girl", Forty muttered between heavy huffs of breath. "Lemme hear my name, hm?"

Completely relying on Forty's arms to hold her Joyce let herself go then, lost in the sensation if his dick inside her, his fingers digging into her hips and the cold, hard metal of the lorry door in her back. She screamed his name when his moves finally pushed her over the edge, and as he followed moments later, he dug his teeth into her shoulder with a low groan.  
They both remained like that, with him pressing her against the lorry, until Joyce realised she had been digging her nails into his back like claws. She relaxed her fingers and ran them gently up his back and through his short and wiry hair.  
Forty lifted his head and chuckled. "I think you drew blood, baby."  
Joyce bit her lip and stretched her neck to glance over his shoulder and down his back to discover that she had indeed broken the skin in several long, red welts. "Oops." She licked her lips as she dropped her head back. "I guess I forgot myself a little."  
"That good, huh?" Forty chuckled again and nuzzled her neck, then gently dug his teeth into her skin again.  
Joyce idly trailed her hands up and down his back and closed her eyes as Forty leaned back to look at her.

"I haven't fucked a girl like you in quite a while", he said.  
"I take that as a compliment", Joyce gave back with a salacious smile.  
Forty chuckled again. "What about you? Anything like you expected?"  
"No." Joyce ran a finger down his cheek and across his lips, moistened it there and ran it down her lips, chin and neck. "Better."  
A slow, cocky smile spread on Forty's face. Then he let go of her hips and let her slowly glide down, sliding out of her in the process.

When they both had dressed themselves again Forty offered her a smoke, and leaning side by side against the ancient lorry they smoked in silence for a few moments before Forty shifted his weight and draped an arm around her shoulder. Joyce dropped her head against his chest with a content sigh that made Forty chuckle again.  
"You like old Forty a good bit, hm?"  
Joyce exhaled a slow cloud. "I've had it bad for you since the first time I ran into you."  
"Why the fuck didn't you let it on?" Forty tapped off his ash. "We could've been fucking like this for months."  
This time it was Joyce who chuckled. "I couldn't imagine you'd be interested in a green little girl."  
"Well." Forty moved his hand, pinched her nipple and then rested it there, leisurely cupping her breast. "Maybe."  
Joyce flicked her butt end away and turned her head to place a kiss on Forty's cheek. "I'll be off again tomorrow. I've got some things I need to take care of."  
Forty turned to face her, that cocky smile reappearing on his face. "You know where to find me, baby."


	14. Enemy mine

**M!Courier, Boxcars, Sunny Smiles: Enemy Mine**

_The courier takes pity on Boxcars in Nipton and gets him to safety. Having narrowly escaped a nasty death, Boxcars realises his life could do with a little improvement._

* * *

Jake had thought the smell of burning corpses and death outside was the worst thing he had ever smelled. Opening the door to what had been the trading post proved him wrong on that, though. The stink of unwashed body, urine and blood almost made him retch.  
After the moment his eyes had needed to adjust to the dim light, he spotted the man sitting doubled over on a chair at the far end of the room. He cautiously took a few steps toward him, thinking that maybe he was dead already, when he spotted the mangled, broken legs. At that precise moment, the man on the chair lifted his head and his eyes, burning with pain, thirst and hunger, came to rest on the courier.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"  
Jake had no idea what to reply. The powder ganger, on the other hand, went on, talking himself into a rage.  
"First I get my legs smashed, and then in walks the powder ganger's grim fucking reaper? What the fuck have you got against us man? Jesus fucking Christ, if you want me dead just gimme 15 Med-X and I'll fucking O.D. for ya, okay? Fuck!"

Crossing his arms very slowly, Jake took a small step back. "Look, pal, it wasn't me who smashed your legs, okay? And I've got nothing against you, apart from the fact that you guys try to kill me whenever you lay eyes on me. It was the people of Goodsprings, okay? They saved my sorry arse when I was about to kick the bucket, and asked me for help. So I helped. I don't really care about you assholes one way or the other!"  
"Yeah, whatever. Are you gonna put me out of my misery or do I have to starve in this stinking shithole?"

Jake stared down at the injured, crippled man and thoughtfully pursed his lips. "I don't have that much Med-X on me, pal. In fact, I have no meds save two stimpacks. You want me to put a bullet between your eyes, or...?"  
The powder ganger narrowed his eyes and his jaw worked for a few silent moments. "Or what?", he finally asked.  
"Or I could try and get you to Goodsprings. Doc Mitchell fixed me up when I had a bullet in my conk. He might be able to fix your legs."  
The powder ganger distrustfully narrowed his eyes. "Why the fuck would you do that?"  
"I don't like killing people."  
"What kind of bullshit is that?"  
"Take it or leave it." Jake took another step back and produced a pack of smokes. Having lit the cigarette, he leaned against the doorframe, then drew his 9mm pistol that he tossed to the wounded powder ganger. Without another word he left the building again, the stench was getting a bit much.

When, after about ten minutes, he still hadn't heard a shot, he walked past the house opposite behind which a few old cars were rusting away under the merciless Mojave sun. It needed no more than three strong kicks to break a door off a pick-up truck, and dragging that along behind him, Jake made his way back to the shop.

When he opened the door and peeked inside, the powder ganger was still staring at the gun in his hand. Upon noticing the door open he looked up, a hardly identifiable expression on his face.

"You think the doc there would fix me up? Why would he want to do that?"  
"If I ask him, he might. He's one of the good guys, you know."  
"Same as you?"  
Jake took a drag of his smoke and shrugged. "That's what I like to think, at least."

A few moments of heavy silence hung in the air.

"I thought I didn't care." The wounded man looked at the gun in his hands and shrugged. "But I guess all I am is a fucking, stinking coward. I don't wanna die like this."  
Jake nodded and walked up to the chair, trying to ignore the smell.  
"Yeah, I know I stink. I couldn't..."  
"Shut up." Jake, a broad-shouldered, heavy-boned man of six foot five, took one of the powder ganger's arms and effortlessly heaved him up across his shoulders, carefully holding on to his hip to avoid touching the mangled legs. Despite his care, the wounded man hissed in pain. "Sorry, pal."

Once outside, Jake cautiously lowered his load down onto the car door and tied him down with a length of rope from his pack. "This isn't gonna be pleasant, but I can't carry you all the way to Goodsprings."  
"I got you." Despite his dark skin, the powder ganger was already white-faced from the pain of being manhandled like this. "I ain't gonna complain about someone trying to save my sorry ass."

Jake wordlessly tied another length of rope to the door and, after slinging this around his shoulder, set off down the road, back towards Goodsprings, dragging the makeshift travois behind him.  
They needed frequent breaks as the jostling and bouncing on the rough, cracked tarmac caused the wounded powder ganger simply too much pain. By the time they passed Primm, the man on the travois was drenched in sweat and trembling with exhaustion.

"Not much farther now", Jake told him, and looking at the wounded man, realised he was close to dying. "Hey."  
The powder ganger managed to open his eyes. They were grey and glassy.  
"You got a name, pal?"  
"They called me... Boxcars."  
"Huh. And what's your real name?"  
The other man seemed to be near-delirious, for he just blinked a few times as if the question was utterly confusing to him. Jake left it at that for now and picked up the reins of the travois again. The man he wanted to save might not make it, but he'd be damned if he didn't try.

When Jake finally reached Goodsprings with his load, the man on the travois was unconscious, his breathing shallow and irregular, his face the colour of a week-old corpse. The first person to spot them was Sunny, and she hurried to Jake's side to help him, concern written all over her. When she noticed the wounded man's outfit, however, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

"I don't believe this. A powder ganger?"  
Jake stopped and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "A wounded man, Sunny. He had his legs smashed by the Legion and they left him to croak it in his own blood and filth."  
"But..."  
"You think I should've killed him."  
Sunny pressed her lips together. "He's..." She broke off and shook her head. "He would've killed you had he had the chance."  
"Probably." Jake arched his aching back. "But I don't kill a defenceless, helpless, wounded man."  
Taking a deep breath, Sunny looked at the wounded man again, and swept her eyes over his legs again. "It doesn't look good."  
"No." Jake picked up the ropes again. "But I can't let him die like this."  
A small smile flitted over Sunny's face. "No. You're a good man, you know that?"  
Jake shrugged. "I guess so. Give me a hand?"

Sunny took another deep breath, then she took one of the ropes and helped Jake drag the travois up the last, steep ascend up to Doc Mitchell's house. Needless to say, the Doc was rather surprised at seeing Jake with a wounded man knock on his door, but even when being told it was a powder ganger, Mitchell didn't move a muscle in his face.  
"A wounded man is a wounded man", he said after Jake had lowered Boxcars onto the stretcher in the clinic. "And I'm a doctor. That's all I've got to say."

**x-x-x-x-x**

It took three weeks for the injured powder ganger to be able to leave the bed for the first time. Jake was there, too, he felt a responsibility for the man whose life he had saved. It was clear that he would never walk again as he used to be able to, the damage to his legs had been severe and he had spent several days in that house before help had reached him. He would walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

"But at least I am still alive", he said to Jake as they stood on the Doc's veranda, sharing a smoke. "But... you know, what the fuck am I gonna do now?"  
"Good question." Jake leaned his back against the wall. "There's powder ganger camps all over the place, though."  
Boxcars was silent for a very long time.  
"Assholes left me there to die. None of them moved a fucking finger for me", he finally said. "Served them right they all were killed."  
"And where does that leave you?"  
"Fuck if I know."

After a few moments of silence, the saw Sunny come down the path, coming from the hills. Her rifle was slung across her back and the zipper of her jacket was undone, and in all, with two golden gecko skins slung across her shoulder, she seemed content with herself and her life.  
Jake watched her with mild interest, while Boxcars stared open-mouthed at the woman walking down the path, his face empty and his eyes wide. "Jesus", he finally whispered. "Who's the chick? She's got some of the finest ass I've ever seen in my life."  
"That's Sunny Smiles, and if I was you, I wouldn't say that again anywhere near her where she can hear it. Otherwise, you'd never have a reason to think about girls in that way ever again."  
Cigarette halfway to his mouth, Boxcars froze and followed Sunny with his eyes. "Yeah..." Then he snapped his mouth shut and stared at his feet before taking another drag. "Guess she'd rather have left me for the coyotes, what with me being a powder ganger."  
"Well." Jake tapped off his ash. "I guess so."

Sunny passed them by and Jake gave her a nod that she returned. Boxcars didn't look up, and she pointedly ignored him. First when she had walked past them completely did Boxcars look up again.

After a few more steps, however, one of the gecko skins slipped without her noticing at first. It hit the ground behind her, and as she turned around to pick it up, Boxcars had limped to her side and icked it up. He held it out to her, and she grabbed it from his hand as if it would be soiled by his sheer presence. Their eyes met for a moment.  
"Fuck off", Sunny suddenly said and spun around, making her way down the hill with hasty, angry steps. Boxcars stared after her with sagging shoulders.

"Should've killed me", he said to Jake when he had limped back to the veranda again.  
Jake watched Sunny vanish into her house and said nothing, but he exhaled a long, thoughtful cloud as he cast the man beside him a look from the corners of his eyes that he failed to notice.

**x-x-x-x-x**

A few days later, Sunny found Jake sitting in the saloon with a beer and a smoke, and he walked over to her bearing two bottles when he had seen her enter, as if he had been waiting for her.

"Hi." Sunny accepted the beer he was offering her. "What can I do for you?"  
"For me, nothing." Jake offered her a smoke, too, that she declined. "What if there was someone who had it bad for you?"  
Sunny narrowed her eyes. "I guess that someone is no one I'd willingly look at."  
Jake shrugged. "He ain't that bad."  
"He's a powder ganger!"  
"He was. He doesn't want to go on like this, that's what he said. He just doesn't know what to do about it."  
"Maybe he should've thought about this before he turned into a thug."  
"Damnit, Sunny." Jake looked down at her. "Don't you believe in giving someone a second chance?"  
She faltered and put her beer down. "I do. But do I have to fuck him because of it?"  
"No." Jake tapped off his ash. "You don't have to do anything. Just stop treating him as if he is still something he'd rather not be anymore."  
Sunny looked at the table top and sighed. "Oh well, I guess I'll try to be fair."  
"That's all I ask of you."

**x-x-x-x-x**

When Jake returned to Goodsprings a few months later, accompanied by a half-robotic dog and a red-haired woman with freckles, the Vault suit exchanged for a combat armour and the baseball bat for a sledgehammer that would take two ordinary men to lift, he ran into a somewhat familiar situation. A group of men were gathered in front of the saloon, armed and hostile, although no shots seemed to have fallen yet, facing a few people of Goodsprings who were armed as well. In their middle stood Boxcars, the former powder ganger, arms crossed and face tight.

"What's going on here?", Jake asked when he reached the congregation.  
"None of your fucking business, asshole", one of the men facing the settlers snapped. He was wearing powder ganger armour, so did the rest. "Fuck off with your abomination and your whore and leave us to our business."

Jake simply looked up at Trudy who gripped her rifle tighter. Next to her was Sunny, and she looked as ready to charge as Cheyenne at her feet, excluding the raised hackles and flattened ears.

"They've got something we want", the powder ganger said before Trudy could answer. "Him."  
All eyes came to rest on Boxcars.  
"You're a fucking powder ganger, you stay a fucking powder ganger." Another of the would-be attackers fell in. "We don't tolerate deserters!"  
Jake looked at Boxcars who swallowed. "I'd go, man. But they won't let me."  
"They'll kill him!", Trudy said.  
"Yeah, but if I don't go, they kill all of us!"  
"Come on old lady." One of the powder gangers spat out beside him. "We just want him."  
"Over my dead body", Sunny hissed.

Jake took a step forward and faced the powder gangers. "This town is under my protection. Know who I am?"  
"I don't fucking care who you are. You could be Caesar himself for all I care, asshole."  
"I'm the Courier. And now fuck off before I make you."

A few of the more sensible among the powder gangers backed off a bit. Their leader, however, just pulled his gun.

With a sigh, Jake slung the sledgehammer from his back. The robotic dog emitted a low, somewhat metallic growl. "Last chance."  
"Fuck off."  
Jake sighed again. "Rex, get him."

With a speed that should be physically impossible the dog had launched itself at the leader and torn out his throat before Jake had finished his sentence completely, and within seconds, the two men standing next to him had their skulls caved in by a blow of his sledgehammer. The red-haired woman joined the fight with a battered shotgun but a deadly aim, and before the powder gangers could rally themselves, the settlers joined in. Everything was over very quickly after that.

Once the dust had settled, Jake slung the super sledge onto his back again and looked at Boxcars. "I take it you moved in here?"  
The former powder ganger flashed him a hesitating, lopsided grin. "Yeah, man... seriously, I owe you one."  
Jake produced a pack of cigarettes, popped one between his lips and lit it with a grin. "Yeah. If ever I need someone to drag me through the Mojave 'cause my legs are bust I'll give you a shout."  
Then he gave him a friendly slap between the shoulder blades that made the smaller man stumble.

Before Boxcars could say anything, Sunny had caught up with them after having checked Cheyenne for injuries. "Oh god, Mitch, I thought they'd kill you! Are you all right?" She fell around his neck and with a self-conscious grin, Boxcars closed his arms around her.  
Jake felt his eyebrows rise into his hairline, and his grin widened considerably. "I see you made yourself at home."  
Sunny turned around again to face him, but without letting go. "Thanks, Jake. Really, I mean... not only for today. You know?"  
"I know." Jake smiled at the two. "Mitch, huh?"  
"Yeah" Boxcars... no, Mitch fondly ran a hand down Sunny's back. "It's my name, you know, before..."  
Jake nodded. "Sure. What about a drink? I promised Cass I'd show her the grave I was dug out of and the people who patched me up."  
"Sounds great."

Jake showed Cass into the Saloon, followed by Mitch and Sunny walking arm in arm. His limp was hardly noticeable any more.


End file.
